Expressionism
by not jackie
Summary: As her son grows up, it becomes clear to Amanda that raising Spock strictly Vulcan may not be the most logical choice. After all, what is necessary is never unwise...
1. Part I

disclaimer: if i owned star trek, spock wouldn't have been bullied as a kid :'(

Expressionism, Part I

* * *

Amanda Grayson smiled to herself as she painted. Though she had no regrets about leaving her planet to be with her husband, and now, to raise her son, she couldn't deny the inexplicable joy that color elicited in her. It would seem that Vulcan itself deemed various hues illogical. Home alone, she cloistered herself in the room Sarek had constructed as her studio and turned up the music as she introduced pigments to paper.

Amanda carefully mixed scarlet with saffron and applied wide brushstrokes to her abstract piece. Her work was interrupted by a muffled noise from another part of the house. "Computer, mute," she instructed. Glancing at the clock, she realized that it was too early for her husband to be home from his ambassadorial duties. She put down her brush to investigate.

Wiping small flecks of paint off of her hands on a small towel, she made her way to the main part of the dwelling. Amanda heard more activity: the clatter of belongings being strewn about, stomping feet, and frustrated snarls, a result, she soon saw, of a small half-Vulcan. His pointed eyebrows were scrunched, his lips twisted and quivering. He whirled, balled fists flailing through the air, to kick at his schoolbag.

"Spock?" The boy immediately stiffened his spine, ceasing his temper tantrum and attempting to regain control of his breathing and, more importantly, his emotions. Amanda found herself shocked, illogically so, she chided herself, as she often did when her son exhibited behavior that was more on par with his human roots.

"I was unaware that you were home, mother." Amanda noticed that, though his voice was completely controlled, Spock's shoulders slouched, his head bowed, ever so slightly. "I apologize for my emotional outburst."

"Spock," Amanda stepped swiftly toward her son. "Sweetheart, don't apologize." She sank to her knees and turned him to face her, her heart aching as she noticed his damp cheeks, still round with youth, but nearly frozen in a blank expression, much too serious for his age. For a human his age, at least. "What's wrong?"

"Mother, there are multiple possible responses to your query." Amanda gazed up into her son's face and lightly squeezed his shoulders, hoping to prompt more information. "I suppose the most prominent factor in my emotional distress at the moment is the distress itself."

"How so?" The boy's eyes snapped to meet her own, very briefly, then quickly looked away. She suspected she already knew. Children could be ruthless, especially coldly calculating Vulcan children, who, according to an unusually sympathetic staff member at the learning center, considered Spock their personal experiment in the effect of genetics on reaction to emotional stress.

He shifted nearly imperceptibly while considering his answer. "I have always had more difficulty than my classmates with controlling my emotions. I am unable to deduce whether this is to do with my human heritage and the resulting difficulties I may have in my meditations, or," he paused slightly and gave the Vulcan equivalent of a shaky sigh before continuing. "Or, if it is prompted by my peers' attempts at provoking emotional distress in me, for reasons I can name, but fail to completely understand."

As he spoke, Spock's voice had become increasingly strained, and he had blinked away tears at least once, but they threatened to return. "Oh, Spock," Amanda finally spoke, softly, to avoid betraying her heartbreak.

At this, the young half-human once again raised his eyes to look at his mother. "I-I meant nothing inherently negative by mentioning my human roots, Mother." He said this quickly, almost panicked. "It was certainly not my intent—" Spock cut himself off when he realized she was smiling, albeit sadly.

"I didn't think that's what you meant," Amanda assured, searching her son's face.

"But you are sad," Spock pointed out.

"I'm sad because I don't think it's fair that the other children pick on you. Especially—" Amanda stopped herself from saying _because it's a result of my genes_. She took pride in never apologizing for her humanity, but seeing her son hurt as a direct result of it made it extremely difficult to ignore. "Especially because of something you had no control over." She pursed her lips slightly and studied the fabric of her son's school clothes, trying to think of something she could say to comfort him. What on Earth, on _Vulcan_, for that matter, could she say?

"Being human is not bad, just _different_, and diversity in background is essential to the progression of knowledge. Your father has reminded me of this on multiple occasions, but perhaps he has not told you enough." Amanda paused, running her fingertips over a wrinkle in Spock's sleeve before directing her attention directly to the boy's eyes. "I hope you know that there is no need to hide your feelings. This is your home, and your father and I love you very much. Nothing can change that." She carefully wrapped her son tightly in her arms. Though he only reciprocated lightly, and with one arm, his small body lost a bit of its tension.

Finally, Amanda reluctantly broke her embrace and stood up. "I've tried to adopt the teachings of Surak, but some of my meditation techniques are... unorthodox. Would you like to join me?" Her smile widened at the curious eyebrow raise her invitation prompted.

* * *

Minutes later, she had clothed her son in a smock similar to her own. She found it amusing that her son had the ability to dismantle and reassemble any sort of technology imaginable while all but deducing every detail of its function, yet he forlornly gazed at the blank piece of paper in front of him, looking lost as he considered the array of hues and shades that filled the room. Amanda had turned on the music again, but had chosen softer, more calming pieces to accompany their art.

"It's not exactly meditation," Amanda finally said, reloading her paint brush. "I suppose it would be considered a positive outlet for emotion." Spock regarded her warily, then turned his attention back to the supplies in front of him. "Just draw what comes to mind. Whatever you feel like."

She knew that asking her son to tap into his emotions as a creative force was difficult and possibly even uncomfortable for him. However, considering his growing emotional stress—frustration, anger, sorrow, confusion—due to the provocation of his classmates, she surmised that Spock _needed_ something—something productive. Fights and tantrums did not fall into that category, though Amanda would admit to falling victim, albeit seldomly, to those sorts of emotional outbursts in her own youth. Spock's practice of self-defense coupled with meditation was helping to be sure, but Amanda hoped that by channeling emotion rather than suppressing it, her son might have some peace of mind.

Amanda stole a glance at her son, the small boy deep in thought, before diving back into her project. Behind her, Spock picked up a pencil and began to sketch.

* * *

"I believe I am finished, Mother," Amanda heard her son announce. He surveyed his work, a sparkle running through his eyes.

She smiled. "May I see?" Spock nodded as she moved to stand behind him.

She blinked, then smiled. "It's beautiful," she murmured, kissing his head.

On the paper in front of Spock, a perfect diagram of elegant schematics had been etched. Long, delicate lines of circuitry and graceful, sculpted forms of paneling held an astonishing level of innate beauty. Amanda almost immediately recognized it as a control panel beside the door.

"This exercise was…" Spock tilted his head slightly as he searched for the right word, a trait Amanda recognized as Sarek's. "Relaxing. Thank you." He rose and faced her. "I should review today's lessons before Father returns for our evening meal."

"I hope you join me again, Spock." Amanda smiled, trying to convey reassurance and love to the young half-Vulcan, half-_human_, she reminded herself, who carefully nodded and left the room.

* * *

a/n- many thanks to my ever-fantastic beta, carynna. if all goes well, i hope to write more chapters, so feedback would be most appreciated. thank you so much for reading! xoxo-xan


	2. Part II

Expressionism, Part II

* * *

Spock loved plomeek soup. He would not admit it often, and only alluded to the dish's agreement with his palate, but Spock was quite certain his mother would imply that he loved it.

He suspected that his fondness for the dish had prompted his mother to prepare it for dinner. Plomeek soup, he reminded himself, was not a difficult meal to cook from scratch, as Amanda had taken the time to do, but it struck him as a bit peculiar that she had served the broth, traditionally a breakfast food, as an evening meal. Spock surmised that his mother's human circadian rhythm, which differed from the day cycles of Vulcan, might have influenced her decision to serve breakfast at night, though her sleep schedule had never disrupted meal choices previously. No, he decided, it was much more likely that she was attempting to improve his mood after witnessing his loss of control.

However, Spock also decided that his mother would instruct him to stop over-analyzing a happy occurrence. Instead, he focused his attentions fully on his father and mother exchanging accounts of one another's days. Sarek explained the particulars of a certain document the Vulcan elders had perused that day as Amanda listened intently, asking an occasional question.

"I notice a fleck of pigment on your neck, Amanda," Sarek noted. "What sort of projects did you invest yourself in today?"

"I painted," Amanda replied, a smile spreading across her face. Sarek inclined his head, indicating his wish for her to elaborate. "Abstract, mostly. Tempera on canvas," she explained. "Spock joined me for a while."

One of Sarek's eyebrows rose, and Spock cringed a bit at his father's obvious surprise. He wondered if his delving into his mother's practice could be seen as especially un-Surakian. "How did you find painting, Spock?"

Spock could only derive his father's surprise from slight changes in the mask-like expression. Spock knew that some of the more conservative Vulcans found painting, at least, the way his mother practiced, to be wholly illogical. Then again, they did not approve of humans in general, while his father had chosen to marry a human. Surely Sarek would not admonish Spock for simply experimenting with the exercise.

"It was a bit challenging at first, but I found the experience to be overall relaxing." Spock's eyes betrayed his slight nervousness, though he deduced that the likelihood his father would have a negative reaction was quite small.

"Did you also paint?" Sarek's smooth voice betrayed nothing, but the sparkle that remained alight in his mother's eyes allowed Spock to gauge that his father's curiosity was simply that.

"I chose to sketch with graphite pencils possessing varying degrees of hardness," Spock obliged.

Sarek raised an interested eyebrow, and Spock was instantly grateful that his father consciously attempted to use more obvious body language within the confines of the household. "If you'd like, Father, I could further explain after dinner as I show you the finished product," Spock offered.

"I believe that would be an agreeable course of action, Spock," Sarek returned. Spock felt strangely happy, but justified it as relief after being unwarrantedly nervous about his father's reaction to his afternoon activities. Additionally, he cited satisfaction resulting from his ingestion of a generous serving of warm plomeek soup.

* * *

After clearing the table, Spock and his parents adjourned to Amanda's studio. Spock noticed that the bottles, pallets, and brushes that had earlier haphazardly lain across the work space were cleaned and organized and the still-damp canvases were arranged about the room to dry. Sarek cast an appraising glance over his wife's work, and made eye contact with her briefly, making a flush rise to her cheeks. Spock started to analyze this, but was distracted when his father's attention focused on the pencil sketch on the table.

Spock found himself unusually tense as his father's eyes scanned the paper in front of him. Amanda stepped behind Spock, lightly laying a hand on his shoulder. He looked up at his mother to find her smiling down at him reassuringly. If his mother, who had known his father for a significant period of time longer than he, could honestly reassure him, as evidenced in her expression, tainted only by happiness, then surely his anxiety was poorly founded.

For the next several minutes, Spock's father intermittently made comments about Spock's sketch. Sarek noted, among several other strong points, the natural strengths of composition in the subject Spock had chosen and with the accuracy with which Spock captured the external paneling. Though the positive aspects his father chose to mention were in no way over-stated, Spock noticed several weak features in his sketch that Sarek, for reasons Spock could not readily recognize, had purposely neglected. Spock realized that Sarek was most likely avoiding negative critique in order to avoid instigating further emotional distress. Whether this course of action had been requested by his mother or not, Spock decided not to venture a guess.

Instead, he studied a set of colored pencils. He felt a degree of shame with the knowledge that his mother had shared the news of his tantrum with his father. Spock knew that shame was illogical, especially considering that his father was one of the few beings who could help him master control. It was clear to Spock that the meditation exercises he had been recently practicing were inadequate, as evidenced by his outburst, however, he surmised that experimentation in his mother's techniques might help him curb his human tendencies toward rash expression of one's emotions.

With that in mind, Spock picked up the colored pencils. "Mother, I believe that before my bedtime meditation, it would be prudent of me to exercise your techniques again." While his mother nodded, and gave him a piece of paper, she also looked a bit worried if not confused. Furthermore, his father glanced at the colored pencils, then up at Spock with a slight air of skepticism. "I wish to deepen my understanding of this expressive meditation process, and to perhaps add it to my daily routine in order to avoid any future loss of emotional control." Spock lowered his head ever so slightly to the side, trying to mimic the movements he'd seen his father use while speaking to his mother as a cue to convey his wish for her to not misunderstand him. "I believe that it is wise to experiment in less traditional methods of meditation, as my lineage, itself, is less than traditional."

"That is a logical decision," Sarek replied with a nod. "Using art as an emotional outlet has worked well for your mother for many years."

"You're welcome to any of my supplies as long as you let me know first," Amanda added, a slight smile ghosting about the corners of her lips.

"It's getting late," his father noted. "If you have no further studies to attend to, I suggest that you meditate, then sleep."

"Thank you," Spock nodded to each parent. "Good night."

"Good night, Spock," his father replied.

"Good night, Spock" his mother replied. "We love you!"

* * *

Spock noted this addition as he walked to his room, pencils and paper in hand. He knew it was a human custom to return the sentiment, but when considered from a solely Vulcan perspective, the phrase was viewed as extraneous. Vocalizing that which was already known, through familial bonds, marital bonds, or otherwise, was seen by Vulcans to be elementary, unproductive, and even somewhat dishonorable. Even while considering that, however, Spock felt the return of a certain feeling, and this time he had no qualms about identifying it as happiness.

* * *

a/n- thanks always to my beta carynna. thank you also to those of you who put this story on alert or favorites. a huge thank you to everyone who took the time to review. i have a few more bunnies in line for this work. cross your fingers for me! feedback would be most appreciated. as always, thank you for reading! xoxo-xan


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